Wreckfish: ‘Hospitality is clearly taken seriously here.’
Photograph: Rebecca Lupton for the Guardian

It may be a dream job, but this reviewing lark is, I’ve realised, a surprisingly nerve-racking business: there’s too much blood, sweat and cold hard cash invested in any restaurant simply to enjoy a good dinner, then dash off the requisite word count on the bus home. In Wreckfish’s case, the responsibility weighs especially heavy: 1,522 people, including a fair few big culinary cheeses, coughed up to help Gary Usher open his new place in Liverpool, making it Kickstarter UK’s biggest restaurant campaign to date.

Admittedly, not many of them are there to keep a beady eye on me on this particular midweek lunchtime. But if the big communal table in the centre remains empty, we’re by no means alone: not only are there the chefs in the open kitchen to keep us company, but on the next table, as if to hammer home the point that this is a relaxed bistro, sits a toddler, merrily working her way through the adventures of Peppa Pig while her parents eat. A couple of pensioners are getting stuck into some juicy gossip and a bottle of wine over by the door, through which the occasional passer-by pops to make a reservation. It’s been open for only a couple of weeks, but this former watchmaker’s workshop in the city’s cobbled merchant quarter already feels like part of the local furniture.

The genuinely warm and friendly staff should take much of the credit; indeed, the waitress who goes to find out how the kitchen makes a pork cutlet taste like that – sorry, Peppa – seems as excited as we are by the answer (the secret involves brine and steam, if you’re interested. And you ought to be). Hospitality is clearly taken seriously here: the elegant chairs are, my friend observes, unusually comfortable, and perfect for relaxing into with a cold glass of rye pale ale from the Liverpool Craft Beer Co and some vast green olives.

But I can’t appreciate either until we finish arguing over the menu. It’s one of those irritating numbers where almost everything appeals, with the definite exception, apparently, of the crispy lamb’s tongues: “Sorry, I just can’t.” Of course, this means I absolutely must, and I graciously allow her to play it safe with chicken liver paté. She’s right: you can tell a lot about a restaurant by its paté.

Unfortunately, I like it more than she does: as pink, rich and smooth as a slab of prettily blushing butter, with only the politest suggestion of offal, it comes paired with an aggressively oniony pear and apple chutney, but deserves to be enjoyed solo: it’s a theory I put into practice after finishing my own starter, which arrives in neatly breaded commas, not in the least like a tongue. The pleasure lies largely in the contrast between this crunchy coating and the plumply yielding flesh within; the faintly lamby flavour needs the sharpness of the accompanying pickled walnuts to carry it, though I’m not sure the pear puree and peanuts bring much to the party. (Obviously, I’m unable to get a second opinion on this.)

My friend wins the next round with that pork cutlet: it’s a real beauty, juicy, soft and emphatically porky, with snappy green beans and a puddle of subtle, silky chorizo sauce. It’s so good it puts my turnip cakes (one of four vegetarian options) firmly in the shade, which isn’t as easy as it sounds: lighter than the Chinese variety, these have a clean, attractive bitterness that really sings in combination with the punchy pomegranate molasses dressing on the accompanying beetroot and leaves.

For all her claims to have been finished off by the pork, the opposition scores a hat-trick with a warm marmalade sponge, its open, almost suety crumb drenched in gloriously bittersweet orange syrup. It’s a very fine thing indeed, and all the better for its simplicity. My matcha tea mousse with salty granola, sharp apple sorbet and a splash of something dark and treacley feels more like a cryptic crossword of ingredients: clever cooking, but hard work.

The bill, when it comes, reads like the kind of joke that isn’t that funny to a Londoner: three interesting, satisfying courses for £20 a head. Prices in the evening are more familiar, but still good value considering the location and quality of the cooking. Wreckfish, according to its Kickstarter campaign, is named for “a fish that lives at the bottom of the sea”. On the strength of our meal, it doesn’t seem likely to stay lurking in the briny deep for long.

•Wreckfish Slater Street, Liverpool L1, 0151-707 1960. Open all week 7am-10pm (10.30pm Fri & Sat). Set lunch, three courses for £20; dinner about £35 a head plus drinks and service.